


Lose to win

by Johnlockiana



Series: The Intimacy of Control [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockiana/pseuds/Johnlockiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't see what's the big fuss is about when it comes to BDSM. John accepts the challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lose to win

**Author's Note:**

> This is consensual, but rough. It might be uncomfortable for some readers, so be warned. 
> 
> This is my first Johnlock fic (and the first fanfic I've written in eight years), so I'm a bit rusty. Thought I'd start with a bang, though. English is not my first language, and I haven't got a beta reader, so apologize for the grammar mistakes. Enjoy!

"Safeword?" Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading, cocking his eyebrow arrogantly. 

"Why would we need a safeword?"

John gave one of his well-known sighs, the one who told Sherlock that he was testing the army doctor’s patience. 

"Safeword, or it’s out. Green for "keep going", yellow for "I need a break" and red for breaking it off immediately." 

"You think you could do something to make me say red?"

"Sherlock, this isn’t a contest. If I made you go red, I would have miscalculated."

Sherlock smiled reassuringly. "John, I have been shot, hit and bruised more times that you can count. I’ve been tortured for days in Serbia, with no sleep, no food and wounds that hurt for weeks. I doubt there is anything you can do that would be any issue at all." 

John smiled, standing in front of Sherlock, crossing his arms. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. "I just _told you_ that…"

"No, I meant during sex."

"No, but as I understand it, it will be less of a beating than what I’ve endured before, and it will end with sex, so I don’t see…"

"Challenge accepted."

Sherlock looked up at him in surprise. This was getting interesting. 

"I love you, and I AM a doctor", John continued. "I will do nothing to give you permanent marks or do any real damage. And we of course have the safeword, as mentioned." 

"I don’t doubt it will hurt," Sherlock shrugged and closed the book. "That’s not my point." He got up from the sofa and moved closer to John, their eyes locking.

"So what’s your challenge?".

John still stood with his arms crossed, not blinking.

"I will have you begging me to come, without me touching your cock."

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, really?"

"Really. But, of course, if the idea of this makes you uncomfortable, I completely under…"

"Of course it doesn’t, don’t be stupid!"

"Right. So, ground rules." John listed on his fingers. "Once we start, you do not speak unless spoken to. You answer all my questions without hesitation. If you want to say something, you start with "May I speak, John?" and you will use the traffic light safewords."

"That’s it?" Sherlock asked, feeling quite reassured. He really couldn’t see him not winning this. It was easy. He could handle rough sex and a few smacks, if nothing to prove to John that this wasn’t as easy as he thought. "Not even the Serbians could make me beg for mercy."

John smiled. "Oh, but I’m not going to have you beg for mercy. Only beg for release."

"Without touching my cock?"

"Oh yes."

"You’re on."

It was John’s time to lift an eyebrow at him. "Starting now?"

"Yes."

"Right then. Take of your clothes." His voice had turned strict.

Sherlock started unbuttoning his shirt. "All of them?"

John slapped him in the face. Not too hard, but Sherlock almost staggered back in surprise. His cheek burned and he stared at John, baffled.

"You do not speak unless spoken to. If you want to say something, you start with "May I speak, John?" Yes, take of all your clothes."

John, the mild-mannered friend and lover was gone. The man in front of him stared him down, his teasing manner evaporated. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look embarrassed or sympathetic. His eyes were dark blue and hard. Sherlock swallowed. That was unexpected. And fascinating. When the first shock had faded, his curiosity was piqued, and he took of the rest of his clothes in silence.

"Good. Now get over to the couch and bend over. Get the pillows and make yourself as comfortable as you can, you will be staying there for a while. Don’t turn around, I will be right back." He headed out of the living room.

Sherlock moved over to the couch as instructed, rearranging the Union Jack pillow underneath him while pondering what was going to happen. He felt… not nervous, exactly, he trusted John, but surprised and slightly tingly with anticipation. How far would John go? He heard John returning and fought the urge to turn around and look. They’ve had sex and seen each other naked countless of times over the last year, but he still filled vaguely exposed and vulnerable in a new way. He felt more than heard John approaching close and tensed up when he felt something unfamiliar brush gently towards his back and hips. 

Wait, unfamiliar? He closed his eyes and focused on the touch. Slightly cold, hard, but bendable – it was his riding crop, he was sure of it. Ok, so this was how he would start, was it? Sherlock tried not to picture himself as he pounded away on corpses with way too much eagerness and swallowed.

"So you have figured it out have you, detective?" he heard John say mockingly. He didn’t reply, only tensed a bit more and prepared himself. But no pain came. Instead, he felt John’s warm hand stroke him where the crop had just been. Over his back, down his thighs, slightly across his arse and then back up again. Light and caressing. It was very comfortable; Sherlock closed his eyes and relaxed in to the touch. Mmm, lovely, John’s hand went back, up, around. Not groping, not touching anything in particular, just soothing and warm. Sherlock almost gave a relaxed sigh.

_Thwack!_

The smack came so suddenly that Sherlock gasped, despite himself. It was hard, and shouldn’t relaxing make it less painful? He focused on breathing, this would be fine. He steadied himself.

_Thwack!_

It burnt like fire, harder than he had anticipated. But John gave him a few seconds to catch up in between each hit. He wasn't sure how many hits John had issued, he lost count after a few minutes, focusing only on remaining calm and breathing. John didn’t speak, and he hit hard. Sherlock was struggling to remain calm and absorbing each hit. After a few more John stopped. Sherlock waited. Nothing happened, his arse was on fire but it was bearable. This wasn’t too bad, he could handle this. John started up again, this time he didn’t hit as hard. But he hit faster, giving Sherlock no time to deal with each of them. It was like string of fiery pain and no way to escape it. But there was a rhythm to it, the hits came at a steady interval, so Sherlock did the only thing he knew how – he disappeared into his own mind. He delved down, down, accepting the pain, just letting it flow over him while ducked under it, disappeared, diminished, decreased. It was getting unbearable, but he was not going to say anything, he wasn’t, god, this was getting too much, he…

It stopped. Sherlock blinked back tears he didn’t know had emerged, breathing hard. 

"How are you doing?" John asked.

"Green," Sherlock replied immediately. 

He could hear John dropping the riding crop, and couldn’t fight the surge of relief he felt. His mind was blank and buzzing faintly. His backside and thighs were burning, and his breath was slightly ragged. He was standing on all four, had raised himself up from the pillow to take some deep breaths. He saw John move into his vision, standing just in front of him. Then, with his eyes fixed firmly on Sherlock, he opened up his belt buckle.

A blowjob? Sherlock thought. Sure, that would be welcome. He unconsciously licked his lips, but his mouth became horribly dry when he saw John not unzipping his pants, but slowly and deliberately undoing his belt from the trousers. A slight feeling of panic rose in him and he quickly looked down so that John couldn’t see it. It made Sherlock angry. What was wrong with him? Yes, his backside was on fire, but it was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to what he had endured in captivity. And he could end this with a small word, if he wanted. He took a few more deep breaths, calming down. He even had the luxury of knowing what was coming, a few more minutes of pain and it would be over. He felt confident enough to give John a little smirk, although he couldn’t see John’s reaction. For whatever reason Sherlock didn’t want to analyse at the moment, he didn’t feel like looking up.

John didn’t say anything and returned to stand behind Sherlock. So he closed his eyes, sank down on the pillow and disappeared inside himself again. Or tried to. The first few whacks jolted him straight out of his mind again, the pain being much heavier and deeper, not as sharp as the crop. He tried focusing on the scientific measurements of different types of pain, but gave up that strategy after two more hits. This time there were no rhyme or rhythm to it, John deliberately kept the hits off-balance, leaving Sherlock with no way of leaning into it, no way of anticipating when it came next. The lack of rhythm made Sherlock uneasy, and made it hard to find a way to cope with it. He closed his eyes. Just breathe, he thought to himself. Breathe, breathe, breathe… 

He felt like he was imploding, falling. Everything stopped existing, his mind quieted down until it was nothing left but John and the pain. When John finally stopped, Sherlock was floating. He felt light-headed, gone, his world diminished. Almost serene. John returned to Sherlock’s face. This time he heard him unzip, and John’s hand in his curls, yanking him up painfully. He opened his mouth automatically, dazed and slightly dizzy. John’s cock was thrust into his mouth. Sherlock moaned, his floaty feeling crushed and he returned to reality like being hit by a truck. His hair was damp, he was sweating, his arms was shaking with the effort of standing on all four, his body was aching and his serene feeling of calm was shattered by the hard thrusts of John’s cock in his mouth. He tried relaxing a bit around him, trying to start sucking, but it soon became clear that was not what John was looking for. With his hair being pulled painfully, his mouth was fucked hard. He could feel saliva dripping down his mouth, tears streaming uncontrollably and he was close to retching from the deep thrusts. He needed to say something, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His mind was overflowing, pain from his backside, pain in his mouth, tears, saliva, he was choking, he needed air, he needed a pause from all these sensations…

John pulled himself out. Sherlock gasped for air, ragged and painful.

"How are you doing?" John asked again.

Sherlock wanted to push the breaks, he needed to stop, just for a moment, he needed… he wasn’t sure why this was too much, it wasn’t, but he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t even think straight, and…

"G…green," he croaked.

That earned him another slap in the face, this time hard. Involuntary tears stung his eyes and he blinked. John’s hand was back in his hair, tugging painfully.

"You do not lie to me, and tell me green when that isn’t true! Is that clear?" John’s voice was angry. "Now tell me – how are you doing?"

"Yellow," Sherlock whispered. The hand in his hair softened. 

"That’s fine, Sherlock. Just stay there, don’t move. Take a few breaths and calm down." John almost patted him on the head before leaving him. 

So that was yellow. Not to sit up comfortably on the couch, John making him a cup of tea, smiling at him, tucking him in a blanket and wondering how he was doing. Just to stay there, on all fours, back burning, throat burning, body shaking, mind completely eradicated. Sherlock relaxed a bit, as much as he could. He could call it off. Did he want to? He had never in his life felt anything like this, his usually overcrowded and noisy mind was quiet. His usual feel of arrogance and irritation was completely gone, he almost felt… peaceful. The floating feeling returned, the buzz. Tranquillity, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

And John was… almost scary. Fascinating, rough, hard, just the thought of John for once being utterly selfish, using Sherlock however he wanted, made Sherlock tingle. He smiled a bit to himself, again feeling curious about where this was going. He could hear John approaching again. 

"Ok, I am ready to…" 

For the third time he received a hard slap in the face, almost losing balance and tumbling into the pillow. This time John gave no explanation, but Sherlock knew why the slap had come. Rules was not his strong point. But he was now so mentally and physically overstimulated that he hardly felt it. He understood that John wasn’t going to do anything more until Sherlock said something. So he would either have to say "red" and call it all off, or… God, he was going to be forced to say it, wasnt he? He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was so hard saying the words, it was as if he had become mute. Swallowing whatever was left of his pride; he cleared his throat and said:

"May I speak, John?"

The words felt like nails, hammering him further down, one word at a time. 

"Yes, you can." came the calm reply.

"I am ready to continue." So that was it. Having to ask John for permission to tell him to continue hurting and humiliating Sherlock. He had never felt this small in his life. Neither had he ever felt this calm and tranquil. He was quickly spiralling downwards, inwards; down to a place he had never before known existed in his own mind.

John walked to his side, his hands starting stroking Sherlock again. Not on his wounded backside, but on his chest, stomach, shoulders, back… Sherlock closed his eyes and revelled in his touch. It felt wonderful. The stroking. It wasn’t warm and caressing as before, neither was it rough, it was… owning. John was taking, touching, claiming every inch of him that he wanted. Sherlock didn’t mind, he was completely gone, lost in the touch, the sensations, there was nothing but John and him. The hands disappeared. He heard a cap open and lube squirted into John’s hand. Sherlock felt tingly again. His cock had gone all soft during the rough throat fucking, but with the touching, and now this, he could feel himself stir a bit again.

John’s fingers pressed lightly between Sherlock’s cheeks, and he gasped a bit, the fingers cold from the lube. He could almost sense John smile. Slowly and gently, John prodded a finger in. Sherlock moved a bit, it felt wonderful. John was being surprisingly gentle, one finger in, two, working and opening him slowly, but surely. John started moving his fingers rhythmically, touching his prostate, but only with very short strokes. Too short, Sherlock arched back in frustration. John continued, fucking Sherlock slowly with his fingers, touching his prostate again and again, but only just. Too short, too little, Sherlock growled in frustration. His body tingling, his cock now fully erect. John was teasing, he knew this was too little, would never be enough.

The fingers was removed, and Sherlock felt empty. Wanting. Then he felt John’s cock slowly prodding. Sherlock pushed towards him, wanting. Again, ever so slowly and gently, John slid in, bit by bit. When he was almost fully in, he pulled completely out. And, then, he gripped Sherlock’s thighs hard – Sherlock gasped a bit, sore as he was – and suddenly pushed fully in so hard that Sherlock lost balance and fell face first on the couch. He couldn’t help give a loud moan of shock. John was so far in he could almost feel him in his _teeth_. God!

John smacked him lightly on his arse. "Get up," he said firmly. "On all fours."

With shaking arms, Sherlock did as he was told. Lost, he was lost. Where was he? John started moving, slowly. Just as with his fingers, he was teasing. _Too slow, too little._ Sherlock could feel his mouth watering, he wanted, wanted.

"Tell me." came John’s voice, low and thick with lust. He was leaning over Sherlock’s back. "What is it you want, Sherlock?"

Sherlock said something incoherent, trying to move, arch, push, but John had stopped.

"Just tell me." John said again. "Tell me, and you will get it."

Sherlock whined with frustration. His palms was sweaty, pain was subsiding and being replaced by an increasing feeling of pure pleasure. It felt so good, he needed more, needed it now. His cock was aching as much as his backside, he had gone through much, he _needed_ this.

"Please, John, I need…"

John was moving slowly again. 

"What do you need?"

"Please, I need to come!"

Immediately John thrust harder, hitting the right spot again and again, his hand folding around Sherlock’s cock, moving in rhythm with his thrusts. Sherlock was lost in sensation again, not even aware of the sounds he was making. God, so good, he had never… The build-up was immense, everything vanished except for the amazing feeling of John stroking his cock just the way he knew Sherlock liked it, John’s cock inside him, thrusting at his prostate again and again… it overwhelmed his entire body; he came as he cried out, almost sobbing. It was blindingly strong, for a second he didn’t even know his name, before he collapsed on the couch. John was still pounding him, every thrust sending him further down into the serene nothingness until the doctor came as well, with a load moan. He faintly felt John carefully pulling out, and then he heard him zip up.

It hit him like a kick in the stomach. Here he was, naked, bloodied, bruised, covered with both their semen, saliva and tears dried up on his face, utterly spent and collapsed. And John had been fully clothed the whole time, only having to zip up his trousers. Sherlock had never been this utterly defeated in his life. He could’t have lost this challenge more spectacularly if he had tried. 

He was trembling, his whole body shaking. He knew he should get up, say something perhaps, do something. But he couldn’t. He was unable to think even. He started to feel cold, and oddly alone. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know what he should do next. But then he felt John wrapping him in a thick blanket and gently holding him by his shoulders, nudging him up.

"Come on, let’s get you warmed up." John said gently, and Sherlock could recognize the caring doctor returning. He followed obediently, too tired to say or do anything else. John steered him towards Sherlock’s own bedroom. He removed the blanket and laid him down on the bed. Sherlock could hear John removing his own clothing and climbing into the bed next to him. Then he felt two strong arms surrounding him and pulling him close. He felt John’s warm chest, warm and strong hands, and he just collapsed into him.

"Sshh, I got you now. Just relax." John said warmly. Sherlock closed his eyes, a wave of relief and joy flooding over him. John’s warmth slowly engulfed him, his tremors, cold and feeling of being lost gradually disappearing. It had never felt this good; he curled up and snuggled even closer. How could John be this amazingly _warm?_ Finally, he dared look up and meet John’s eyes. John was smiling at him, his face glowing. 

"Hi there," he said. "Are you ok?" John kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Talk to me." 

Never had the word "ok" been less adequate for how he was feeling, Sherlock thought. But seeing as he didn’t find any word adequate at the moment, he nodded. He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice working again.

"Yes, I’m ok." he said.

John held him closer, and they just laid like that for quite a while. Minutes were passing, until John finally loosed his grip a bit.

"Sherlock, I’m just going to have a look at your back, ok? Let me get some stuff and I’ll be right back." 

"Mnf," Sherlock said.

"Good lad." John smiled and got up.

A minute later Sherlock could hear John fussing behind him, but couldn’t bother turning his head. He was pleasantly surprised when John gently washed his face with a warm and wet towel. He continued washing Sherlock on his stomach, genitals and his arse, ever so gently. Sherlock laid spread-eagle on the bed, feeling incredibly comfortable. He felt John’s fingers touching the bruises ever so carefully, going full doctor-mode. He put some lotion, or whatever it was, on some of them. Sherlock was too relaxed to care much. When he was done, John crawled back into bed again.

Sherlock was finally starting to return to normal. It was as if he had been submerged under water for the last few hours and only now emerged again. His body and mind was still utterly and completely sated and comfortable, but his mind was slowly grinding back into gear again. With a grimace, he moved onto his back, with his head on John’s shoulder.

_"Fascinating,"_ he whispered.

John giggled next to him, his hand stroking on Sherlock’s shoulder and upper arm.

"Indeed you were. Are you getting better? When can I start gloating?" he said teasingly.

Sherlock gave him a look, snorting. 

"This was… I’ve never felt anything like it in my life." Suddenly a realization hit him, and he turned to face John.

"You knew I would lose."

John nodded, smiling silently.

"How did you know that?"

John let a finger trace one of Sherlock’s black curls. "Because you so clearly thought it was all about enduing physical pain," he said.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, lost in thought again. 

"Everything you did… it was planned? It had a purpose?"

"Yes."

Sherlock felt renewed, energetic. He quickly got up and straddled John, now his own face glowing.

"Fascinating!", he repeated. "Tell me all about it!"

John laughed. 

"You think I would give away my secrets, do you?"

Sherlock stared at him, a smile tugging his lips. John sighed, but smiled. 

"Look, Sherlock. You were prepared for physical pain, but you were not prepared for the emotional strain and intensity that would follow. Having criminals beat you up is one thing, having someone who love you do the same – well, do something similar – is something completely different."

Sherlock stared intently at him, nodding.

"You knew it was an illusion, that you could break it all off with a word. Yet the illusion was so strong that it eclipsed everything. And since you have never done this before, never been in a proper relationship before even, this was ALL new. Add to that you being a person who try to ignore, repress or stomp out any emotion that get in the way, it is no wonder this was utterly overwhelming."

John was back to playing with Sherlock’s curly hair. He sighed inwardly with joy; it always felt good when John did that.

"You knew all that before we began?" 

John nodded again.

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "And they call me the manipulative and sly one?" There was no real snark in his voice. 

John laughed. "Had you believed a word of it if I’d told you this beforehand?"

Sherlock conceded the point.

"Also", John continued. "Aftercare is important."

Sherlock looked a bit confused.

"It’s a shock to the system when the one you love stop being caring. Or at least, seem to. When you are treated like that… you need to be reaffirmed, you need to be made sure that everything is ok again, you need to be safe when coming back down again."

"I don’t need coddling!" Sherlock snapped automatically.

John didn’t say anything, only smiled. Sherlock had the decency to feel slightly ashamed. He looked at John, his mind racing. 

"I want to do it again!" he said eagerly. "And this time, I want to be in charge!"

John laughed again. "Oh you do, do you?"

Sherlock frowned at John. "Problem? You don’t trust me to know when to stop?"

"Oh, I do trust you to know about pain and damage. But will you be able to stop once you get into experiment-mode? Will you be able to know when a green is not a green?" John looked at him with a serious expression on his face. Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that. This was more challenging than he had expected. Which only made it even more interesting. He grinned. 

«I’m a quick learner. Perhaps next challenge should be having you say green when you don’t mean green?»

"Sherlock, that isn’t a sound challenge!" John said, mockingly stern. He pulled Sherlock towards him and they kissed.

Sherlock had never been happier to lose a challenge in his life. And the future looked very promising.


End file.
